Personally bringing game to the table, and cooking deliberately, Scott Leysath lives the life of The Sporting Chef.
PHEASANT LEG STEW
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Known as The Sporting Chef, Leysath has traveled the world with a gun in one hand and a carving knife in the other. His culinary ascension has been remarkable. His early work managing and owning restaurants affirmed his love of cooking and, at the same time, cast a light on a forested trail that only he could see, a path around the daily grind of food service that hung like an albatross around his culinary inclinations. While it may be possible to become an expert on cooking wild game without ever picking up a gun, that’s not the road Leysath took. From his early years in the woods of Northern Virginia to his more recent residency in the heart of California duck country, The Sporting Chef has always explored the most direct connection between field and fork. Fortunately for us, Covey Rise was able to spend time with him in the fields of North Dakota this winter. He prepared meals and also recipes for our enjoyment. Here are some takeaways from our interview with him, with a recipe following. Check out more recipes in the upcoming Chef + Plate posts. “Wild game home cooks routinely go to extraordinary lengths to mask the taste of wild game. They’ve been told that no game shall be prepared without a lengthy soak in some concoction aimed at driving out the evil gamey spirits. After someone recites a recipe, they often end with, ‘It’s so good, it doesn’t even taste like duck,’ which, to me, is not a victory. I can’t say that I blame them. There’s a good chance that they were raised on overcooked wild meats that tasted muttony, livery and gamey. If my duck tasted like liver, I’d try and cover it up, too.” “Once my freezer is full of sinewy upland bird legs and carcasses, I’ll load them into a roasting pan along with scraps of vegetable ends, peels, skins and a garlic bulb or two. After browning evenly in a 450-degree oven, I crank down the heat, add an inch or so of white wine and cover the pan while braising for several hours. Dump the whole mess into a stock pot, add cold water and simmer overnight. Oh sure, the windows get a little steamy and the shutters might be a tad greasy, but the aroma is intoxicating.” “I grew up in Virginia when standard quail hunting protocol involved cruising the country in search of promising hedgerows and briar patches. We’d find the landowners the day before and assure them that all gates would be closed, no livestock would be liberated and, if needed, we were available to help with any heavy lifting or grunt work as repayment. We didn’t have dogs, just a good sense of where bobwhites like to hang out and we could always find enough rocks and sticks to scare them out of a brush pile or berry thicket. I’ve since never been without at least two setters, English and Gordon.” “As a kid in suburban Virginia, I remember riding my bike into town with my buddies to find out what all the fuss was about a Jack-in-the-Box taco. We’d never had one before. It was deep-fried and delicious, but only a faint resemblance of the real deal. I later went to college in Tucson, Arizona, and soon discovered that ‘real’ tacos didn’t come with a slice of American cheese and the meat was, well, actually just meat—at least I think it was.” —Joe Healy We featured Chef Leysath in the April-May 2016 issue of Covey Rise, where the full feature and all recipes are published. Photographs by Terry Allen. |
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